Wednesday, May 30, 2012

The Year We Survived

The day
before school started, he walked into her classroom and shook her hand for the
first time. Two weeks before, he had taken a bad skateboard fall and ended up
in the hospital with a concussion and a broken wrist. He had a fresh cast on
his arm the day he signed the enrollment form to start Wilmot Elementary.

One week
before, he had driven across the country with his mom and two brothers, making
their way from their old home in New York to their new one in Colorado. Life
seemed upside down and fractured, since their house on the East coast hadn’t
sold and their family was forced to move in shifts. He was a bundle of nerves
and anticipation as he crossed into her fifth grade classroom for the first
time. Her mega watt smile and friendly disposition put him at ease.

He had no
real home, on the day school started. The temporary lease on a tiny condo
across the street from school still had fresh ink, and Colorado life was on
hold until the New York life could be wrapped up. The teacher knew of his
details and kept a close eye on him the first few days, and weeks, as a favor
to his mama, a woman she’d only met once.

The teacher’s
own mama heart scooped up this nomad child and made him feel welcome. More than
half of his classmates had shared classrooms since kindergarten but he wouldn’t
know that until much later. The climate she encouraged was one of inclusion and
looking out for each other.

The boy’s
mama moved back to New York and left her boy with the cast to live with his
daddy and high school brother. His oldest brother had been dropped off at
college just days before school started. Another bit of fracture to add to a
fifth grader’s list.

Through
September and October he struggled in the temporary furniture-bare condo home,
missing his mama, way back in New York. He snuck into his tiny bedroom closet
and called her on his cell phone, asking her every day when she’d be coming
back to be with them. When he’d tell her he often cried himself to sleep it
broke her heart. Trying to find ways to comfort him long distance, she’d send
emails to his teacher, asking her to give him a proxy hug and make sure he was
okay. The mama grew to trust that the teacher was doing exactly that.

As weeks
went by the boy got outside a bit. He visited bike parks with his dad and rode
mountain trails with his big brother. Even through all the feelings of loss…lifetime
friends he’d left behind, the family pets who were still back East, and the comforting
sense of having both parents in the same house…he started to fall in love with
Colorado.

The names of
new friends started to cross his lips. As he’d chatter about Windham, and Luke,
on his nightly calls to his mom, she started to relax a tiny bit. Making friends
is one of the first steps to feeling at home.

By the end
of October his mama finally (finally!) drove that two thousand mile road again,
this time bringing a special cat and dog with her. Life became a bit more
crowded, as another person and two animals moved into the tiny space, but the
boy relaxed a bit, finally having, at least, both of his parents at the dinner
table each night.

The routine
of school continued. Books read. Reports written. Homework done, then signed. His
mama spent her days trying to keep the long distance house in order, while
making their temporary quarters as homey as possible. She saw the notes that
came home in the backpack, about helping with this school project or that one,
but the day to day survival took up most of her time. No one at the school, and
most importantly, the teacher herself, never judged, and only encouraged. The
mother was deeply grateful.

The semester
changed. A new year brought new changes. A move to a more permanent house and
finally all of the boys belongings showed up from far away. By the end of
February his sacred Legos were once again scattered across his bedroom floor
and his old familiar favorite clothes were being pulled out of boxes. Homework
continued, school activities continued, and the boy started to feel more
settled. Loved by a large family at home, taught and nurtured by a big hearted
teacher at school.

Every time
his mom stopped by the school office, to sign him out for visits to the
dentist, she was met with smiles. You see, the fifth grade classroom that had
been the boy’s sanctuary for the unsettled months he’d lived through, wasn’t
the only place in that building where love and laughter flowed freely. The boy’s
mom began to look forward to every trip through those school doors, as she knew
her spirit would be uplifted by the beautiful souls who sat behind the front
office desks. This place called Wilmot had a knack for attracting the best of
the best.

Spring
brought many school events that everyone else seemed to be familiar with. The
boy’s mom would drill her boy for information he’d learned at school, and scour
his Friday folder for explanations of the next big festival or school dance.
Being new in a school district means having to try twice as hard to just figure
out what everyone else already knows.

Many times
the boy’s mom would call on his teacher, through a quick email, asking for more
details and clarification. Every email was met with patient explanation.

Spring
brought two big events for the boy. One cold sunny afternoon his beloved old
poodle got to come visit his classroom. After promptly leaving a ‘deposit’ in
front of the school (she was a nervous girl, after all), she quietly walked
through the brightly colored hallways and promptly took her place in front of
his class. Cell phone pictures were snapped left and right as dozens of hands
patted her curly head. The boy, who had grown to feel very at home in his fifth
grade classroom, was thrilled to be sharing his life’s best friend with the
people he saw almost every week day.

A few weeks
later the school talent show was announced. The boy was immediately ready to
share his talent of song, even though the talent bucket wasn’t a deep one. His
mother was a bit worried, then a lot worried, when he announced he’d also be
wearing a full body morph suit for his performance.

More emails
to the teacher, who promised she’d help in any way she could. These desperate
emails had a different tone than the ones from Fall, when it was all about
keeping the boy comforted until a mother figure could show up. These emails
were more about wondering where the line was in protecting your child from
laughing peers versus letting him find his own way. And although the teacher’s
own child was just a toddler, she had lots of older kid experience, and successfully
assured the mother that all would be fine.

And,
amazingly, it was.

The teacher’s
mother skills were once again brought to the classroom when the boy’s fluffy
old dog suddenly died one weekend. A week after a good check up at the vet she
heaved her last breath, with the boy holding her head in his arms. It was
another devastating blow to the boy, one that once again needed home and school support. The mother didn’t hesitate to email the
teacher. She kept her mommy eye on the boy, as she taught math and science, and
assured the boy’s mom that he was holding his own at school.

Then one
day, not even a week after his lifetime best friend died, the boy was just too
sad to go to school. The grief was too big, the pain grasping too tightly on
his heart. The mom made one of those hard decisions and kept him home, emailing
the teacher about the ‘real’ reason for her son’s absence. Instead of judgment
or criticism, the teacher emailed back,
saying she completely understood, and at the end of her words she included, "Please don't ever apologize for
parenting your son. We will soon be a distant memory for him; he can make up
school work. He can't make up mom and family time, especially if that was what
he was needing. Thank you for loving your son."

The mother
was deeply touched and grateful.

And then the end of the school year arrived. The
teacher announced she’d be moving from the fifth grade classroom to the second
grade classroom. Either way, the boy would be moving on to middle school and
rarely be exposed to her stabilizing force anymore. She’d move on. He’d move
on. Both to find new adventures and new challenges.

The night of
the fifth grade graduation the mom and the teacher both had tears flowing down
their cheeks as the slide show flashed pictures of smiling babies who had
turned into mature young students. The mom’s tears continued as the lights were
turned back on, as she tried to contain all the gratitude and love that had
slowly accumulated for the teacher, after nine long months of transition and
neediness, laughs and smiles.

But that’s
the problem with teachers. The really good ones just do what they do, day after
day, caring and encouraging and loving, and never ask for praise. And the moms
and dads who really need them to branch out beyond teacher duties feel bad
asking for anything more. But really good teachers never flinch at such
requests. They never hesitate, saying, “Of course!” sometimes even before the
request is fully voiced.

Because they
are people first. They are moms and dads first. They bring to the classroom
their big personalities and their optimistic views of life and they pour them
into our children. Fueled by an occasional mention at a graduation ceremony or
a teacher appreciation day, they plug forward.

As this
school year draws to a close, this year that was the single hardest year of my
son’s life, I am more grateful than I can adequately express. For a teacher who
recognized my son’s need, then recognized mine, and did everything in her power
to help us both. She will always be one of the shining stars when I think of my
son’s childhood.

4 comments:

Thank you so much for this beautiful essay. I've forwarded it on to my many teacher friends. Your essays bring tears to my eyes each time... in a good way. Thank you for speaking (and writing) straight from the heart!

I am so proud to know and have worked with your fifth grade teacher, at another school - in another time. She IS one of the best...her tenderness and caring are the most giving I have ever witnessed. I am so happy for you ~ that your family had this experience, especially your son...I feel his life will be changed because of her example and nurturing. Beautiful writing...thanks for sharing.

It never crossed my mind when my children loved teachers that they loved me less...I always felt blessed if they were inspired by or attached to a teacher. (from your comment elsewhere...I, too, have been a teacher...now retired. My boys are 35 and 30...the younger a special educator himself)

To this essay...great, great job!! AND continued best wishes for your relocation!

Who I Am

In January of 2004 I chose to have my foot amputated. It was deformed and had kept me from having the life I wanted. I love my new bionic leg. I was very motivated right after my surgery, and got very fit. Then life as the mom of four kids got crazy and I got soft again. I have one blog that is about my journey back. Making my way back to the fit person I intended to be when I made that radical decision to upgrade to an artificial leg. I've lost the foot. Now it's time to lose the fat. It's one amputee's journey to better health and the unique challenges that come with working out with one leg.
My other blog, Just One Foot, is a collection of stories about being a mom, some unique perspectives from being an amputee mom, and many stories that are universal to every mom.